


A Tyrant's Countermelody

by curseworm, VenetaPsi



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Bittersweet Ending, Blackmail, Blood and Injury, Dad Jschlatt, Dream SMP War, Dream Smp, Dubious Morality, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone Needs A Hug, Evil Wilbur Soot, Found Family, Gaslighting, Gen, Good Jschlatt, Hero Jschlatt, Hero TommyInnit, Hurt/Comfort, I wish you could rearrange tags on ao3, L’manberg, Manberg, Manipulation, Non canon compliant, Permadeath/Hardcore, Pogtopia, Post-L'Manberg Election, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Psychosis, Realistic Minecraft, Swearing, The Manberg Festival, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Villain Wilbur Soot, Wilbur's decent to madness, imagine knowing how governments work, there’s more hurt than there is comfort, trust building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curseworm/pseuds/curseworm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VenetaPsi/pseuds/VenetaPsi
Summary: Schlatt’s not a bad guy, ok? Sure, he's a bit callous at times, and maybe he can be a little ruder than strictly necessary, but he does genuinely care about Manberg and its citizens. The decisions he makes are, in the long run, all for the better of the nation. He gains the allegiance of Tubbo and Fundy through kindness and sincerity, and together they begin planning a festival to celebrate a new era of Manberg’s history. A golden age, so to speak.Wilbur doesn’t seem to get the message.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, Eret & Wilbur Soot, Floris | Fundy & Jschlatt, Floris | Fundy & Niki | Nihachu, Floris | Fundy & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Jschlatt & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Floris | Fundy, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 69
Kudos: 897





	1. The Aftermath

The adrenaline had yet to leave Schlatt’s system, even by the time he finally managed to catch a moment alone. Standing up on stage, the angry, disbelieving faces of the crowd glaring up at him, he had been quite sure that the entire _city_ had been about to turn on him, right then and there. 

He paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow — a remnant of the summer heat and nerves — and letting out a deep, steadying breath. He’d done it. _He’d done it._ Schlatt got the inexplicable urge to laugh as a strange warmth bubbled up in his chest. 

_He’d done it._

Wilbur and Tommy were gone. Out of the city. Schlatt still couldn’t believe he’d gone through with it. He’d been _seconds_ away from chickening out, from backing down and returning their power, their positions. But now the deed was done. The threat of revolution was as quashed as Schlatt could get it, and now he could focus on doing his job. Plans — _so_ many plans. He needed to call a meeting immediately. Establish his entire cabinet, set his first policies into action, send an order to get construction on the walls permitted…

Schlatt wandered aimlessly through L’Manberg’s halls, hands jammed into his pockets, lost in his thoughts. The man striding down the corridors — his hair dishevelled from anxious fingers threading through it, his shirt untucked, his gaze distant and unfocused — looked nothing like the charismatic president who had been inaugurated not even an hour before. 

For once, though, his appearance was the last thing on Schlatt’s mind. He was too caught up with planning his next step, trying to ensure that the actions he took would be as beneficial as possible for his nation. He didn’t snap out of his reverie until he registered the muffled sound of a voice, drawing him back to reality. Schlatt paused, looking around. He’d wandered deep into the heart of L’Manberg. In fact, by this point, he wasn’t really sure how to get back the way he’d come. Schlatt shook his head, disregarding the fact that he was lost in favor of tilting his head and trying to focus on the distant, soft voice he could just barely hear drifting through the walls. 

It didn't make sense. Everyone was, to the best of his knowledge, still outside, or near the gates. Suddenly on guard, Schlatt straightened, quickening his pace and softening his footsteps on the rough carpet as he turned a corner; head angled to try and catch the voices — two of them, now, he was certain. Another corner, and then he could tell they were coming from a small room to his left; the door just barely cracked open. Now that he was this close to the room, he found that he could recognise the soft, anxious tones of one of the voices. Schlatt wondered when exactly Tubbo had snuck into the building, and why the teen had seen fit to do so without alerting him. 

Schlatt crept closer to the door, and just managed to catch the tail end of what someone — Fundy, he realised with a jolt — was saying. “–can’t just let him do this to our nation, Tubbo!”

“Shh, shh! Keep your voice down!” Tubbo hissed, the nervousness and apprehension in his voice intriguing enough that Schlatt couldn’t help but take a cautious step closer, leaning towards the crack in the door to listen in.

“It’s not like there’s going to be anyone around here,” Fundy grumbled, and Schlatt held back a wince. Maybe eavesdropping wasn’t the best thing to do, but he was too curious to just let this slide. “They’re all too busy celebrating the inauguration of _President_ Schlatt.” Schlatt actually did flinch away this time. The venom in Fundy’s tone when he uttered his name, the way he spat out his title like it was some vile curse, it stung. But Fundy wasn't done. “That— that _tyrant_ has got to go. He’s already banished Tommy and Wilbur, the only people who held this nation together. I don’t think I want to find out what he plans to do next.” There was a bitter hatred in his voice, and it made Schlatt’s heart sink. 

He looked down at his hands, staring at them mournfully for a moment before clenching his eyes shut. He’d known, of course, that the decisions he made wouldn’t be well-received. He knew that the actions he still planned on taking— that he _needed_ to take, would be met with backlash. But hearing this still hurt.

Schlatt reached forward and quietly tugged the door shut. He just caught the beginning of Tubbo’s response, a reassurance that they would take back their nation, restore its order before it was abruptly silenced by the door clicking shut. He slipped down the corridor, the plans that had been whirling through his head all but forgotten.

If Schlatt had glanced back, he would’ve seen the door inch back open. He would’ve seen a pair of wide, blue-green eyes watch as he retreated down the hallway. He may have even caught snippets of the hurried, fearful whispers Tubbo and Fundy exchanged, panicking over the fact that the very subject of their discussion had been standing right outside the door.

But as it was, he was too far lost in his thoughts to notice, wondering about how he’d fix the bridges he’d already burnt by banishing Tommy and Wilbur, how he'd gain the trust of the people who had already decided that he was a villain. The path to healing L’Manberg, Schlatt was beginning to realise, was going to be wrought with far more obstacles than he’d expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick heads up, we're not going to be sticking strictly to what has happened in the streams. Feel free to mention any details that are different from what actually happened, but keep in mind that it might be on purpose.


	2. An Attempt at Help

Schlatt had found his way to the war room. Its walls were lined with maps and bookshelves; marked up and full of worn strategy books from the previous war, left here to gather dust and serve as a record to the nation's history. At the centre of the room stood a circular mahogany table surrounded by rickety wooden chairs.

It was one of these chairs that Schlatt collapsed into, letting out a shaky breath. He needed a few minutes to himself, to work out what to make of the conversation he’d just overheard. An hour into his presidency and his citizens were already conspiring against him. He must’ve broken some sort of record. What an achievement.

Schlatt let out a groan, burying his head in his hands. Should he tell Quackity? Tell George? To be fair, Tubbo and Fundy’s anger was justified. He _had_ just banished their leaders. But… had that conversation just been their rage speaking? Or did they pose a legitimate threat to him and his government?

Schlatt raked his fingers anxiously through his hair and shook his head. Banishing Wilbur and Tommy had been something he’d needed to do. He’d known it would tarnish his relationship with his citizens and had accepted that as a worthy price. But it’s not like he could go around punishing everyone who made the slightest move against him. And all Tubbo and Fundy had done was exchange words, which wasn’t at all against the law. He’d keep a close eye on them, but otherwise do nothing to indicate that he’d overheard their conversation.

Mind made up, Schlatt stood and walked back to the doorway he’d entered through. It was time to announce his plans, to enact the policies he’d discussed with Quackity and George. All he had to do first was find his way back outside.

-o-

It had taken some time, much backtracking and _many_ dead ends (seriously, who had designed those corridors? Schlatt shuddered to think about what Eret's _castle_ was like) but Schlatt finally found his way out. A crowd was still gathered around the podium, though it was beginning to disperse.

Schlatt let his eyes drift over the milling crowd, then the people standing on the podium. Quackity was up there and seemed to be having a hushed conversation with George. Schlatt felt a jolt of surprise when he saw who was standing nearby to them, staring blankly down at the crowd. In the time he’d taken to gather his thoughts and find his way out, it seemed that Tubbo had finished his conversation with Fundy and made his way back to the podium. And — Schlatt turned his attention to the crowd, searching it until he spotted a shock of orange hair — Fundy was back too.

Schlatt let out a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. It appeared that they were going to be keeping up a pretence of loyalty. Well, two could play at that game. He would keep up his façade of cluelessness regarding their suspected treachery and work on showing them he could be trusted and that their plotting wasn’t necessary.

Schlatt remained unobtrusive as he climbed up the stage. In fact, the first person to notice his return was Tubbo. The teen’s eyes widened, a spark of fear, of hatred, flashing through them for a moment before being replaced by something indecipherable. Schlatt felt a stab of guilt. Tubbo had, from what he’d seen, been one of Wilbur and Tommy’s closest advisors. The suddenness of their banishment would have left him without any way to even say farewell.

Regrettably, it wasn’t as though Schlatt could just invite the two exiles back so that they and Tubbo could connect one last time. That would be the perfect way to undermine his own authority, to tell his people that they could just disregard the rules he enacted. But maybe... maybe he could send Tubbo after them with some bullshit excuse of ‘making sure they stayed away.’ Maybe that would let the kid say his goodbyes, get his closure. 

Of course, that also meant Tubbo might decide to flee with the other two — Schlatt wouldn't be too surprised. It seemed cruel to not let him at least have the chance, though. Especially to bid farewell to Tommy. He and Tubbo were both so disturbingly young. 

Tubbo was stiff as a board as Schlatt passed him. It hardly even looked like he was breathing. Schlatt went over to Quackity and George, who halted their conversation and turned their attention to him.

“You’re back,” George observed, arching an eyebrow. “Had a nice break, then?”

Schlatt narrowed his eyes slightly at the man’s tone but nodded. “It was _remarkable_.”

George nodded over to Tubbo, who was dismally failing at pretending he wasn’t listening in. “He just got back, we’re not sure where from. We tried to get him off the podium, but he insisted that he was still the Secretary of State.”

Schlatt glanced at Tubbo, letting out a non-committal hum. “I have one more announcement I want to make today,” he said, not acknowledging George’s comment.

“Ooh,” Quackity said. “What are you planning?”

“You’ll see.”

A hush fell over the crowd as Schlatt stepped back to the podium. He could feel the unforgiving glares of the people upon him, burning holes into his suit. He cleared his throat, adjusting his tie slightly. “Tubbo,” he said quietly, not even turning towards the teen he was addressing.

Even without looking back at him, Schlatt could practically feel Tubbo’s anxiety. It seemed to roll off him in waves. “Y– yes, Mister President Schlatt, Sir?” he managed to say, stumbling over each word.

Schlatt resisted the urge to rub his temples. _Mister President Schlatt Sir? Really?_

Rather than voice his thoughts, however, Schlatt stepped to the side slightly, gesturing next to himself. “Tubbo, come here. Come to the podium.”

“You… you want me to…” Tubbo fell silent, glancing around nervously before stepping forward with a quiet, “O– ok.” His shoulders were hunched slightly, his posture screaming discomfort and terror.

Schlatt glanced down at the crowd and found his eyes locking with Fundy’s. The man looked horror-stricken, his eyes wide and his hands trembling slightly — out of fear for Tubbo or rage at Schlatt, he didn’t know.

Schlatt tore his gaze away from Fundy’s and turned to Tubbo. He smiled. “You’re the Secretary of State, right? My right-hand man?”

“I, uh, yes, Mister President Sch—”

“Schlatt will do just fine,” Schlatt cut in.

Tubbo flinched back slightly, looking for all the world like he just wanted to sink into the stage floor and disappear. “Um, y– yes, Schlatt.”

Schlatt regarded Tubbo coolly. “I have a job for you, Tubbo. I need you to do something for me.” The teen’s eyes were huge, confusion and fear warring within them. “I need you to find Tommy. And I need you to show him the door.”

The momentary stillness of the crowd following that statement meant that the commotion on a nearby rooftop instantly drew Schlatt’s attention. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what it was. He managed to spot a tuft of blond hair, a flash of a blue jacket, and— Schlatt froze. Surely not.

He wasn’t given time to consider the implications of that, as his attention was snapped back to the crowd — the silence broken by a cry of, “ _N_ _O!_ ”

Niki had shot to her feet, murder in her expression. She seemed to want to charge up to the podium and kill him right then and there. The only thing stopping her was Eret, who held her back with a hand on her shoulder. He looked stricken.

“You have no— you can’t ask _Tubbo_ to do that!” Niki screamed up at Schlatt.

The tension of the crowd had reached its height, and Niki’s exclamation had been all that was needed for it to snap. Suddenly, hundreds of voices were shouting up at him, screaming about the injustice of his order.

Schlatt shook his head as the guards started intervening, trying to restore order in the crowd. These people really had no respect.

Schlatt turned to Tubbo and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I hear,” he said lowly, “that they might be somewhere nearby. On top of a building, perhaps.” Here, he glanced meaningfully at the tower where he’d caught a glimpse of what he was almost certain was Tommy.

It was almost as if Tubbo were frozen, staring at Schlatt, too horrified to respond. Even after the crowd had been calmed down, Tubbo remained silent. 

Schlatt allowed his hand to drop from Tubbo’s shoulder. “Well?” He prompted after the silence had dragged on for a little too long.

Tubbo jerked slightly, his eyes flickering around as though remembering where he was for a moment, before settling on a point just below Schlatt’s chin. “I… I’m not sure if—” Tubbo fell silent, looking away. “I think that Tommy will, uh, go away on his own, maybe? I’m not sure if I’d really need to go after—”

A laugh came from behind them, cutting off Tubbo’s stuttered explanation. “I don’t think he wants the job!” Quackity cackled.

Tubbo paled. “No, no! I– I want the job. I want the job. I just don’t know if—”

“ _Tubbo_ ,” Schlatt cut in. For god’s sake, he was just trying to help the poor kid. “It wasn’t an offer.”

Tubbo gulped, visibly cringing back. “Y– yes Schlatt,” he mumbled.

Schlatt nodded, satisfied, and stepped back. Tubbo edged shakily away from him.

“Traitor!” came a cry from the crowd, the voice full of hatred and disgust. Tubbo recoiled, looking like he was just about ready to cry. Schlatt’s head snapped down, and he glared coldly at the throng of people, trying to pick who had shouted out. How _dare_ they? 

But there were too many people, too many angry faces looking up at him, any one of which could have been the one to speak up. So Schlatt narrowed his eyes down at them and said, icily, “You are dismissed.”

Tubbo, apparently taking that to mean him as well, was quick to skitter off, running off the stage and towards where Fundy, Niki and Eret were standing, getting ready to leave. Schlatt watched him go with a slight pang of guilt. He only wanted to help, but there was a sinking feeling in his gut telling him that, maybe, all he’d managed to do was make things so much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's trying his best
> 
> Also, thanks so much for all the support we've gotten so far! We really can't believe that we already have over 100 kudos and nearly 700 hits!! Comments are also massively appreciated, so if you have the time please feel free to drop an encouraging word :)


	3. A Matter of Perspective

Tubbo’s heart was heavy as he trudged through the forest, weighed down by the knowledge of what — of _who_ he was searching for. Schlatt had ordered him to hunt down Tommy and Wilbur, to make sure they stayed away from L’Manberg, and he had no choice but to obey.

Really, it didn’t make much sense to Tubbo. Why send someone out to look for the people who had already been exiled under threat of... well, he wasn’t exactly sure how they’d be punished if they returned. Imprisonment? Death? Well, either way, Tubbo wasn’t sure why Schlatt thought the promise of _whatever_ wouldn’t be enough to keep them away.

Given, Tubbo knew it wouldn’t be. He knew his friends, and he knew that they were probably already plotting a way to return to L’Manberg, to snatch back the power that had been stolen from them. And he knew that, when he found them, he would work to help them.

Tubbo glanced around nervously, half-expecting that his treacherous thoughts would summon Schlatt himself, that he’d see the man standing nearby, staring at him from the shadows of the trees. But, of course, there was nothing. Tubbo shuddered, hunching his shoulders slightly as the chill of the forest, and of his fear, bit through his clothing.

Tubbo was scared. He was confused. He was tired. He wanted to see Tommy. And he _really_ wanted to know what was going on with Schlatt.

When Schlatt had been elected, Tubbo had felt powerless. The system of democracy had failed them. Their election, which was supposed to finally let them bring their country to life, which had promised to let them show the world what they’d managed to create despite the odds — it had failed them. The positions he and his friends had worked so hard to get meant nothing now. Like a tiny candle in a storm, their warmth, their success; in moments it had been snatched away. Tubbo had never felt so frustrated, so helpless in his life. 

And then Schlatt had banished Tommy and Wilbur, and the hopelessness Tubbo felt had multiplied tenfold. The ground felt like it had dropped from beneath his feet. His world had collapsed. Shattered. Crumbled. He’d been unable to do anything as the people he’d considered to be allies, considered to be _friends_ , turned their weapons on Tommy and Wilbur and chased them off like they were criminals, like they weren’t the very people who had raised the nation from the dirt.

Tubbo had run too, in the opposite direction. He’d fled the stage, unable to bear the sight of Schlatt, standing up there, looking so smug in his victory. Fundy had followed him, deep into the heart of L’Manberg. Together they’d begun planning, plotting on how they’d restore order to their nation. But then he’d heard a quiet click of the door shutting, and his curiosity had been piqued enough for him to peek out.

When he’d seen Schlatt’s retreating back, it had felt like the end of the world. Like time had stopped. That was it, they were done. What could they do? It wasn’t like anything they said, anything they did, would erase the traitorous words they’d so bluntly released; their anger and perceived privacy leaving their tongues loose and far too honest. Schlatt was many things, but a fool he was not. He was a strong man, a powerful one, was in control of their _goddamn city_ and, like the hot-headed idiots they were, Tubbo and Fundy had just made him their enemy. 

After a frenzied exchange with each other, consisting mainly of them repeatedly whispering, “oh god what do we do?” they had decided to try and act like nothing had happened, to return to their positions and hope that Schlatt would… well, they weren't exactly sure what they hoped he would do, but there hadn’t really been much time to formulate a plan. Tubbo had sprinted back to the podium, insisted to Quackity and George that he was still the Secretary of State, of course he was allowed to be up here, what were they talking about? Fake it till you make it, and all that.

When Schlatt had returned, Tubbo’s heart had frozen in his chest, his breath had caught in his throat. The sudden realisation of how _idiotic_ his and Fundy’s plan was had almost sent him scrambling down the stairs, fleeing from L’Manberg. But the man had ignored him, walked straight to Quackity and George and began speaking with them. Tubbo had eavesdropped and, when Schlatt didn’t even mention what he’d overheard, allowed himself a moment of hope, to consider the idea that somehow Schlatt _hadn’t_ heard their conversation.

Then Schlatt had stepped up to the microphone and called Tubbo to the podium. In that moment, he had, quite honestly, nearly burst into tears. He’d been so sure that he was about to be sent to join Tommy and Wilbur as exiles. Or, if Schlatt was feeling especially bloodthirsty, executed as a traitor. He’d looked down at the crowd, met Fundy’s wide, terrified eyes, and knew that the man was thinking the exact same thing.

Tubbo had been stiff with fear the entire time he stood there, listening to Schlatt, waiting for the sentence which had never come. Instead, he’d been ordered to hunt down Tommy and Wilbur. Of all the things Schlatt could’ve done, this actually seemed the cruellest. Force Tubbo to betray the friends who had just had everything snatched from them? As far as punishments went, it seemed remarkably thought-out. Tubbo had wondered, in the immediate aftermath of the order, what Schlatt thought would stop him from just joining Tommy and Wilbur as soon as he found them. But then he’d realised — there was nothing. Schlatt knew this, and he knew that if Tubbo _did_ join them, he’d just be exiling himself. The most unnervingly baffling thing was, and this was what really had gotten Tubbo — when Schlatt had spoken, he hadn't seemed malicious. Surely the man would have wanted to gloat over forcing Tubbo's hand, but in reality, there had been no smugness in his voice, no arrogant laugh, no cocky smirk, _nothing_.

It didn’t make any sense. 

Standing on stage, Tubbo had felt sick. He had scrambled away from Schlatt at the first chance he’d gotten and ran to Fundy, Niki and Eret, been hugged by them, then desperately asked what he should do. He’d been told to go along with what Schlatt told him, that his safety was more important than any temporary show of resistance. So Tubbo had run to his house, grabbed a sword, and haphazardly thrown on some armour before heading off, his reasoning being that he could just get the job over and done with early and not have to worry about it again. 

He also _did_ want to find Tommy and Wilbur. Not to chase them away, of course, but to help them. Schlatt, for whatever reason, seemed to trust him. Tubbo could use that to his advantage. He could spy on the President, learn his plans, and feed that information to the true leaders of L’Manberg. And if he left too late, if he waited until the next day to start his search for them, it would make finding them exponentially more difficult.

With his iron sword and half-suit of iron armour, he had been severely under-geared, but he didn’t see any reason he’d need any powerful armour or weapons, and the time it would take to find them would be wasting precious minutes. There wouldn’t be too much extensive travel — Tommy and Wilbur couldn’t have gone _that_ far — and the people he was finding were his friends. It wasn't like he was going towards a fight.

But once again, the thing that Tubbo was still hung up over, that he was still confused about, was Jschlatt’s motivations. If the man wanted to consolidate his power, he would’ve banished Tubbo and Fundy the moment he caught wind of the fact that they were conspiring against him. If he wanted to make a statement, to instil fear in his citizens, he would’ve had them executed. But he hadn’t done either of them. He hadn’t even _mentioned_ what he’d overheard. The man who had smugly exiled Tommy and Wilbur from L’Manberg seemed, in many ways, different from the one who had stepped back onto the stage an hour later.

Nothing was adding up. The most powerful man in L’Manberg, and Tubbo knew _nothing_ about him nor what he aimed to achieve. He couldn't even begin to decipher what game Schlatt was playing, and it scared him.

Tubbo was pulled from his musings by the quiet sound of a twig snapping. He stiffened, his head jerking up, his eyes flicking anxiously around his surroundings as he tried to pick where the sound had come from.

Tubbo’s hand dropped to the sword sheathed at his hip, his fingers curling warily around its hilt. “Wh– who’s there?” he called out, the treacherous waver in his voice betraying the fear he was trying so hard to conceal.

His only response was the wind; whistling innocently through trees.

Tubbo glanced around anxiously as the silence stretched on. Was he just imagining things? Was this his fear manifesting as paranoia?

He heard another crack of a branch being broken and the unmistakable ring of a sword being drawn. Tubbo pivoted, unsheathing his weapon to face whomever it was, but froze when he saw the tip of an iron blade levelled directly at his throat. 

“Drop your sword, Tubbo,” said a tight voice. 

Tubbo’s heart jumped up to his throat, his eyes widening as his grip on his sword went slack, the weapon tumbling to the ground, useless by his feet. “Tommy,” he breathed out, his voice full of hope and relief. He took an instinctive step towards his friend, towards the comfort and safety he offered, but was stopped as Tommy raised his weapon slightly, as though reminding Tubbo of its presence.

Tubbo looked up at him, his eyes pleading. “Please, Tommy, I–”

“Don’t,” Tommy snapped, cutting him off. “Just... don’t. I know why you’re here, Tubbo. I _heard_ what you said to Schlatt. I– I just–” the anger in his voice was unable to mask his pain. The point of the sword wavered slightly as his hand shook. “I just don’t know _why_.”

Tubbo took a breath. He took a chance. He took another step forward, reaching out and gently pushing Tommy’s sword to the side. Tommy stiffened, his eyes widening, his mouth opening as though to protest, but was cut off as Tubbo pulled him into a tight hug.

“Tommy,” Tubbo whispered, clinging to his shirt as though it were a lifeline. Tears welled in his eyes as he finally allowed the emotions he’d been suppressing to come crashing out. “Tommy I– I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to, I swear. Tommy, I was so, _so_ scared. I thought Schlatt was going to banish me or kill me. He– he overheard me talking about overthrowing him and I– I was so sure he was gonna punish me. But he didn’t, and I couldn’t do anything but agree with him. But I don’t want to hunt you down, I swear. You’ve got to believe me, I would never betray you like that...”

Tommy, temporarily shocked into silence by Tubbo’s unexpected confession, finally regained his wits enough for him to wrap his arms around Tubbo’s shaking shoulders. “Hey, it’s ok,” he said, halting Tubbo’s rambling, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I believe you, man. I… I trust you.”

Tubbo nodded jerkily, pulling back from the hug. “Thank you,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes furiously, embarrassed by his breakdown. “I– I just don’t–”

“Tommy!” a familiar voice shouted from within the trees, cutting Tubbo off. “Tommy, where are you?”

Tubbo’s head jerked up, his eyes lighting up hopefully. “Wilbur!” he cried out. “Wilbur, we’re over here!”

The silence following Tubbo’s shout seemed to stretch on for far too long. Tubbo glanced over at Tommy questioningly, wondering why the man wasn’t responding.

After a few more moments ticked by, Tommy finally called out, “Wilbur?”

There was a crunch of snapping foliage and suddenly Wilbur emerged from the trees behind Tommy. It had only been several hours since the election, but he already looked worse than Tubbo had ever seen him. Even during the war, when things had been at their worst, he’d held himself to a standard. He’d always had pride in his appearance, in himself, if only to boost the morale of those under his command.

But as he was now, Wilbur seemed to be a shadow of the leader he’d been at the start of the day. His hair, which had always been stylishly dishevelled, was instead unkempt in a way that spoke of neglect. His eyes — narrowed at Tubbo, full of suspicion, of anger, and of something undecipherable — were red and slightly puffy. Wilbur had been crying.

But by far the most damning change was the fact that he was no longer wearing his L’Manberg uniform. Wilbur had always prided himself on keeping his uniform spotlessly clean and professional, insisting that it encouraged his subordinates to do the same (though it had never worked — Tubbo and Tommy had been berated more times than they could count for carelessly ruining their uniforms). So to see him wearing a dirty brown trench coat over a bloodied white shirt, obviously uncaring of his appearance — it was a difference that spoke volumes as to the changes that had occurred.

“Tommy,” Wilbur said, his voice low. He reached out a gloved hand. “Come back here.”

Tommy glanced uncertainly between his friends. “Wilbur, I don’t—” 

“Tommy!” Wilbur snapped, a panicked edge to his voice. “Get behind me, now.”

Tommy glanced helplessly at Tubbo, an apology written in his expression as he slunk over to Wilbur. Tubbo stepped forward as well, about to ask Wilbur what was going on, but was stopped as the man's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.

Tubbo froze, his eyes flicking from the sword up to Wilbur’s narrowed eyes. As he stared, he realised something. Hidden behind the mask hostility was a spark of fear. Wilbur was _scared_.

Tommy laid a hand on Wilbur’s arm, pulling it away from the sword. “Wilbur, what are you doing? It’s Tubbo!”

Wilbur laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “Yeah, it’s Tubbo. Tubbo the fucking _traitor_. Or have you already forgotten what we heard him say to Schlatt?”

Tubbo flinched back, his heart sinking as Wilbur spoke. The corners of his eyes burned with unshed tears. _Is this really what he thinks of me?_

But Tommy was already shaking his head before Wilbur finished speaking. “He’s not a traitor, Wilbur. He was just scared. He didn’t have any choice but to go along with what Schlatt said.”

“And who told you that?” Wilbur snarled. “He’s just saying what you want to hear! What Schlatt told him to say!”

Tubbo cleared his throat quietly, drawing their attention. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off as Wilbur jabbed an accusing finger at him. 

“Don’t even try. I won’t fall for your lies. I know what Tommy won’t accept — you’re a traitor, just as bad as Eret.” Wilbur took a step towards Tubbo, his hand once again curling around his sheathed sword.

Tubbo scrambled backwards, raising his hands in a desperate effort to placate Wilbur. “You’re wrong!” he insisted. “Please, calm down. I swear I only want to help you.”

Wilbur scoffed. “That’s what Eret said, too. Do you remember what he did to us next?”

“Yeah, _us_ , Wilbur!” Tommy said. “Tubbo is one of us! He’s always been one of us! L’Manberg, remember?”

Wilbur scowled. “L’Manberg is Schlatt’s now.”

"What?" Tommy shouted, slamming his boot onto the ground. The heavy sole collided with a small branch and the loud _'snap!'_ that followed made Tubbo flinch back, glancing helplessly between the two. "Wilbur! How can you say that? He– Schlatt _stole_ L'manberg, it isn't his!"

This was quickly turning into a very different argument, and Tubbo began to wring his hands anxiously as the tennis match of furious words rang in his ears. 

"Please– guys–" he interjected, wilting under the weight of the glare Wilbur shot him. "Wilbur please, I– I know you're hurting and you don't trust me, but please, I'm telling the truth. Why– if Schlatt wanted me to ma-manipulate you–" the words felt like ash in his mouth. _Manipulate_. Maybe that was exactly why Schlatt had sent him and not George or Quackity. "–then why would he make me act _loyal_ to him? I was acting Wilbur, I was– I was fucking _terrified_ – _"_

Tubbo wanted to cry. 

"Because he didn't know we were watching," Wilbur said coldly, and Tubbo barely bit back a sob. Fuck. He couldn't lose more people. He couldn't lose Tommy and Wilbur. 

"...Wilbur you’re being absurd," Tommy cut in, voice harsh and frustrated, his fists clenched at his sides. "This is Tubbo. Tubbo! _Tubb-o._ You know? _Our_ Tubbo?"

“He betrayed you, Tommy!” Wilbur yelled. His voice echoed in the stillness of the forest, wavering just slightly as he sucked in an almost panicked breath. “When are you going to get that through your thick skull? He fucking betrayed you!”

Tears pricked at the corners of Tubbo’s eyes as he stared up at the leader he’d once idolised. “Wilbur, you can’t actually mean that…” he whispered, his voice full of grief. He hadn't betrayed them. He _hadn't_. He and Fundy had been talking about overthrowing Schlatt just hours ago. He– he _hadn't betrayed Tommy. Right?_

“Y’know what?” Wilbur rounded on Tubbo, his expression hardening from brazen anger to a cold, determined fury. “I’m done. I’m fucking done. If you won’t leave, then I’ll make you.” 

Wilbur unsheathed his sword with a scrape that seemed to ring throughout the clearing. Tommy and Tubbo both stood there, shocked into silence, neither of them having actually expected him to draw his weapon. Wilbur’s eyes were wild and guarded, full of anger and fear as he levelled his blade at Tubbo.

Tubbo stumbled back, feeling, for the first time, like he was in legitimate danger. He never would have thought Wilbur would actually hurt him, but now, looking up at the man’s furious face, at the sword he was brandishing, he couldn’t help but feel an inkling of doubt.

Tubbo reached for his own sword, sheathed at his hip, but froze as he realised it was still lying on the forest floor — he’d dropped it when he’d first encountered Tommy. He was suddenly, _painfully_ aware of how unarmed he was, that his hands were empty. Wilbur was just about ready to _stab_ him, and he was defenceless.

“Wilbur, please, I—”

“No!” Wilbur snapped, taking a threatening step towards Tubbo, who scrambled back another few feet as he desperately threw Tommy a fearful, panicked look. “I don’t know what Tommy thinks he’s doing, trusting you, but I won’t let you hurt us. I won’t fall for the same thing I did with Eret. Go. Run back to Schlatt, _Tubbo_. Tell him how badly you failed.” 

Tommy jumped in front of Wilbur, hands splayed out, eyes wide. “Wilbur, what are you doing! You can’t just say shit like that! I don’t—”

But Tubbo was already running, the tears he’d been trying to hold back streaming down his face as he fled the forest and Wilbur’s cutting words. As Tubbo made his way back to L’Manberg, furiously wiping away the tears that continued to fall, he felt a stubborn resolve grow in his heart.

Wilbur was wrong. He wasn’t a traitor, and he would prove it to him. 

Tubbo sucked in a deep, trembling lungful of air; held it for a second, and released slowly. Tried not to think about how that method of calming down had been taught to him by the same man that had just levelled a sword at his throat. He could do this. He was determined. He wasn't going to fail Tommy and Wilbur. They didn't trust him now — or at least Wilbur didn't. That was okay. Tubbo had time. He'd prove his loyalty, prove that Wilbur didn’t need to be afraid of him. He understood fear and how powerful it was, now more than ever. 

For now, though, he had a President to watch.

After he pulled himself together, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entirety of this fic has already been planned out, and it was planned the day the festival was announced and villain!wilbur started. We are not going to be changing things to fit with what actually happened during the festival, so this is now strictly an AU.  
> (Also that part where Tubbo thought he was going to get executed was written before the stream)


	4. Plots and Schemes

The shadows cast by L’Manberg’s proud buildings were beginning to lengthen as the sun’s rays sank below the horizon. Within one of these buildings sat a tired president, his head buried in his hands, his mind full of ideas and half-baked plans. 

Schlatt had been quick to step down from the podium after his second speech, stopping only briefly to tell Quackity and George to meet him in his office in an hour before fleeing from the burning glares of his citizens.

He’d made his way to the White House, to the privacy of his office, and it was there he waited — in a structure built by the people he’d just banished, in an office that didn’t feel like his own. The entire room seemed to speak of its previous owner, from the paperwork scattered messily over the desk to the photos that lined the walls. Even the huge chair he was sitting in didn’t feel like it belonged to him. He supposed Wilbur hadn’t had much time to pack things up, hadn’t expected to _need_ to move out, but it still left him with the task of cleaning the room, of adding his own personal touch. Until then he doubted the room would feel any less uninviting.

The idea of beginning his refurbishment then and there crossed his mind but was quickly chased away by a loud knock on the door.

“Come in,” Schlatt called out, and watched as the door swung open to reveal Quackity and George. Upon seeing him in the office, George’s expression settled into one of neutrality, whereas Quackity’s lit up with an almost uncomfortable amount of glee.

“Ayo, big man Schlatt!” he exclaimed as he stepped into the office. “I really can’t believe what you did with Tubbo back there. I don’t think even I could’ve thought of something that horrible!”

Schlatt blinked, completely thrown off guard by the unexpected... compliment? “What?”

“Tubbo! Ordering him to go after Tommy and Wilbur! I was thinking we’d like, imprison him or something, but this punishment is so much better.”

Schlatt stared blankly at his Vice President, wondering, not for the first time, when the man had changed so much.

When Quackity had first presented the offer of a coalition government, Schlatt had jumped at the chance. He needed power to achieve his goals, and he knew it wasn’t power he’d be able to attain on his own. At that point, Quackity’s goals had also been pure. He’d seen the corruption in L’Manberg, heard rumours of Wilbur’s plans of rigging the election, and decided that he wouldn’t let it stand. Their alliance had been the perfect chance for both of them to help L’Manberg.

Over the course of their campaign, however, Quackity had become more and more resentful of their opposition. It had been a thousand tiny things, but Schlatt had watched as, slowly, the man’s goals shifted from helping the people of L’Manberg to opposing Wilbur and Tommy. And now Schlatt was stuck with a Vice President whose goals blatantly opposed his own. While he still wanted to see L’Manberg into a new age of prosperity, to stop it from collapsing as so many nations before, all Quackity seemed to want was revenge on the nation’s previous rulers, to see them suffer for their perceived slights.

And then there was George. His motivations had always been a mystery to Schlatt. The man was quiet, observing everything through eyes concealed by goggles — which only served to make determining what was going on inside his head so much more difficult. Schlatt didn’t know how he’d come to be Quackity’s second-in-command, didn't know what drove him to do what he did. But George was a smart man, and had proven himself on many occasions to be a brilliant strategist. So while Schlatt was somewhat wary of him and his motivations, he’d still accepted the help he offered during their campaign.

But now that Schlatt was president, now that he actually had the power he needed to begin achieving his goals, he knew that their differences would cause conflict among them. It wasn’t like couldn’t just revoke their positions — after all, their alliance was all that had gotten him the position he had. But he knew something would need to be done.

Schlatt shook his head slightly as George cleared his throat. Ah, right. They weren’t here to discuss the fragility of their alliance. Quackity had said something to him, complimented him for the supposed punishment he’d given Tubbo. Explaining the real reasoning behind his order would take too long, probably not be a good idea, and was another thing they were decidedly _not_ here to discuss, so instead he settled on a blunt, “Thanks.”

Quackity nodded eagerly as he settled back into a chair. George had leaned against a wall, apparently opting to remain standing.

“Well,” Schlatt said after a few moments, absentmindedly flicking through the files on the desk. “That day was certainly… eventful.” After a few moments of silence, he glanced up. Quackity and George were both staring at him pointedly, waiting for him to continue speaking.

Schlatt pushed aside the papers with a sigh. “So,” he began. “About those walls...”

-o-

The autumn chill made itself known as Schlatt exited the warmth of the White House. He shivered and hugged his suit jacket tighter around his shoulders, scowling in distaste. He hated the cold.

The darkened streets of L’Manberg were almost eerily quiet as Schlatt strode through them. Having some sort of guard at a time like this would probably be advisable, but he was honestly too tired to give a shit. All he needed was a break, a bit of time away from the White House’s stifling atmosphere.

The meeting had gone well enough, he supposed. They’d done everything they’d set out to do — hammered out the details of the actions and policies they planned to introduce, discussed the stability of their power and how best to maintain it (though Schlatt had neglected to mention a certain conversation he’d overheard), generally talked over how they were going to manage things going forward.

But the entire interaction had rubbed him the wrong way. There had been something in the way Quackity acted, the vindictive way with which he spoke of tearing down the walls, of renaming the nation, that had set Schlatt’s teeth on edge. Sure, those two decisions weren’t ones that would be well-received by the public — that was something they’d previously discussed in detail, always coming to the conclusion that the benefits outweighed the price. But here, Quackity had been fixated on the fact that these actions would be destroying things the nation’s previous rulers had built.

And that wasn’t at all why Schlatt was doing this. He wanted to take down the walls to free the nation of their constricting presence. He wanted to rename the nation to try and shake off the connotations of bloodshed, war and _darkness_ that came with the name L’Manberg and the revolution it had been forged in.

The banishment of Wilbur and Tommy hadn’t been personal. He’d done it because he knew they’d put a stop to the changes he needed to put into place. The conversation he’d overheard between Tubbo and Fundy had been worrying, sure, but they had nothing backing their ideals. Wilbur and Tommy, however, had the support of the public on their side — thousands of people who would rally to their cause if they decided to revolt against him as they’d done the Dream SMP. Exiling them had been the only foolproof way of erasing the threat they posed.

During the meeting, however, Quackity had spoken about it like it _had_ been personal. The man was driven by spite and a desire for revenge, and he seemed to think Schlatt felt the same way, like Schlatt was doing all this to sow suffering and discord. George hadn’t been much help either. He’d just stood there the entire meeting, watching everything with an inscrutable expression, content to remain silent except for a few interjected comments, usually egging Quackity on.

Schlatt had held his tongue during the meeting, but now that it was over he found he just needed _out_ . He needed a breath of fresh air, to recuperate, to take a moment to remind himself why he was doing all this. He’d promised himself; he wouldn’t fail this nation, not this time, not again. He couldn’t, he _wouldn’t_ let history repeat itself.

Schlatt hastily pushed down the memories which threatened to rise. He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath, calming himself. _I can’t change the past,_ he told himself firmly. _All I can do is make the future._

Schlatt was drawn from his thoughts as a sound, so quiet that he almost missed it, made itself known on the edge of his consciousness. He stopped short, glancing warily around, finding himself unable to spot anything amiss. Schlatt cocked his head to the side, trying to pick what it was, where it was coming from.

It was a person, he decided after a few moments of listening. The noises they were making were quiet, which meant that, for him to be able to hear it, they had to be nearby. Given his current standing with his citizens, the fact that there was an unidentified person nearby, obviously trying to stay hidden, should have worried him. But his curiosity outweighed his concern — and really, he was too drained to have much concern in the first place — so he disregarded the possible danger in favour of finding out what was going on. 

As he crept towards the origin of the noise, he realised that the person wasn’t speaking. It took him a few moments to recognise the quiet sniffles and hiccups for what they were, but he realised... they were crying. The noises were coming from the city’s entrance; the main street that was, at this time of the night, practically deserted.

Schlatt peered around the edge of the building, his eyes widening as a small figure came into view, half-concealed in the shadows of a nearby house. Their body language made it clear that they were the source of the tears, and the uniform they wore made it clear who they were.

_Tubbo._

As Schlatt watched Tubbo trudge down the street, eyes downcast, shoulders hitching with the occasional sob, he felt his heart ache for the poor kid. He knew what it was to be alone. He knew how it felt to miss people so _desperately_ that it felt like physical pain. It’s why he’d given Tubbo the order he had, given him the option to join Tommy and Wilbur if he so desired.

And as much as Schlatt hated to admit it, whatever Tubbo was going through was almost certainly due to him. Any attempt at comfort would only end up worsening the situation.

It hadn’t been his aim, but he knew that what he’d done, the way he’d acted in his effort to play the part of a powerful leader, had given Tubbo a monumentally poor impression of his character. If he didn’t end up running away, then Schlatt would have to work on showing him that he could be trusted, that he wasn’t the villain everyone seemed to think he was. But for now, he’d have to trust that Tubbo’s friends and allies would offer him the support he so obviously needed.

Schlatt waited until Tubbo passed the building he was hiding behind before returning to the street. It was about time he headed back to the White House, anyway. 

The day had been a long one, and the next one promised to be just as eventful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's stream, huh?
> 
> Thank you so much for all the support you guys have been offering for this fic!


	5. Fox Amongst Hounds

When Tubbo had returned to L’Manberg, vision blurred by tears, heart laden with grief and steely resolve, the first thing he’d done was return to his house. The second thing he’d done was collapse onto his bed and instantly fall asleep.

His dreams had been plagued by visions of weapons and fire and screams of  _ traitor _ , and he’d woken in a cold sweat, feeling, if possible, even worse than he had the night before. He lay still for a few minutes, debating whether or not to fall back asleep, but eventually pulled himself out of bed with a groan.

Tubbo got dressed quickly and made his way to the kitchen, stifling a yawn as he went. He opened his cupboard and groaned again. He was out of food.

Tubbo closed the cupboard, grimacing as his stomach rumbled in protest. A glance at the clock on the wall told him that it was before sunrise — too early for any shops to be open. He’d have to wait to eat, then. He set the kettle to a boil, deciding that if he couldn’t have breakfast he’d at least allow himself a cup of tea, and began preparing for the day.

Not even a week ago, Tommy would have been the one to wake him, dragging him out of bed with an excited shout, pulling him into whatever new scheme he needed help executing. It had only been a day, and yet his house already seemed empty without Tommy’s boisterous personality to fill it.

But all those thoughts served to bring up were memories of yesterday’s encounter. Wilbur’s enraged face as he drew his sword, Tommy’s panicked shouting as he tried to hold him back, the sheer terror Tubbo had felt as he’d fled the clearing—

Tubbo was quick to shake himself from those memories. They would do no good. Instead, he cast his mind forward, began to think over the next steps he’d take, how he’d prove his loyalty and how he’d gain back Wilbur’s trust. 

The sun was just beginning to rise as Tubbo stepped out of his house, the crisp morning air serveing to wake him more than any beverage or food could. The streets were practically empty as he walked through them, few people having any reason to be out this early.

There was one person, however, that Tubbo knew would be up. He was almost always up, working on whatever project he’d decided to take on, building whatever new thing had caught his fancy. And he was someone Tubbo desperately wanted to talk to.

The journey to Fundy’s house was quick, and barely ten minutes had passed before Tubbo was standing outside it, knocking on the door. It took a few moments before it creaked open, wary brown eyes peeking out, widening as they saw who was waiting outside.

“Tubbo!” Fundy cried, his voice full of relief. He opened the door all the way and pulled Tubbo inside. “You’re alright. Thank god, you’re alright.

“Yeah,” Tubbo muttered. “Yeah I- I’m ok.”

“Do you need anything?” Fundy asked as he led Tubbo through his house.

Tubbo hesitated slightly before nodding. “Do you have anything I could eat?”

“Yeah, sure,” Fundy said, leaving Tubbo by the entrance to the living room and making his way to the kitchen.

Tubbo stepped into the sitting room and instantly sagged onto one of the couches, allowing tension to drain from his back and shoulders. He tipped his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes, letting out a deep breath. He was safe here, in Fundy’s house. He was safe.

He was allowed a few minutes of respite before Fundy reappeared, carrying a plate of toast and an apple. He set the food down on the table and sat at a couch across from Tubbo, watching as Tubbo began to eat.

“How did you sleep?” Fundy asked eventually.

Tubbo glanced up from his meal. He took a moment to swallow, then said, “Well.” It was a lie.

Fundy nodded. “Sure. Good. That’s good.”

“How’s your latest project coming along?”

“I’m building a bunker. It’s going quite well.”

“That’s good,” Tubbo echoed. “How’s, uh, how’s Niki?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t spoken to her since… well, since then.”

Their gazes locked for a second before flickering away again. A heavy silence settled around the room. Tubbo returned to his food, silently hoping they wouldn’t broach the topic he knew was on both of their minds.

“So,” Fundy said after a few moments, and the weight in his voice meant Tubbo instantly knew what he was going to say. “Yesterday.”

“...yeah,” Tubbo said, pushing away his empty plate. “Yesterday.”

Tubbo started at Fundy.

Fundy stared at Tubbo. 

The silence stretched on.

“Ok,” Fundy said. “We need to talk about this.”

Tubbo nodded. “Yeah.”

Tubbo blinked. His eyes were wet.

Fundy blinked. His eyes were full of concern.

“Tubbo, are you ok?”

Tubbo’s gaze dropped to the floor. He took a breath, hesitated for a moment, then shook his head slowly.

“Oh, Tubbo,” Fundy sighed. He stood, crossed the room, and knelt by the couch. Tubbo shrank away from him. 

Fundy lay a gentle hand on Tubbo’s knee, prompting the teen to look up at him. There was a glassy sheen of tears coating his eyes. Fundy leaned forward, pulling Tubbo into a hug. “Oh, Tubbo,” he said again.

Tubbo’s shoulders shook as he wrapped his arms around Fundy. “Wilbur hates me,” he mumbled. “I- I saw him last night. He thinks I’m a traitor. He hates me.”

Fundy’s eyes widened, a spike of guilt shooting through him. After the speech, Tubbo had run to him, begged him to tell him what to do. He’d told Tubbo to comply with Schlatt, to go after Wilbur and Tommy — not to hunt them, of course, but to help them. He didn’t know what had happened, but obviously it had gone wrong. He pulled back slightly, looking into Tubbo’s eyes, not missing the way Tubbo’s gaze flickered away from his own. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

“Well, you know I went after them. I- I’d told them about the escape route in my bunker, for if anything went wrong. So I knew they’d go that way. But they’d been there, at the speech. They saw Schlatt ordering me to go after them, saw me agreeing. I- I met with Tommy first. He was– he understood. And then Wilbur came,” Tubbo’s voice shook. “He didn’t let me speak. He was just so  _ angry _ . He said I was just like Eret. He- he drew his sword. Fundy, I- I think he wanted to  _ kill  _ me.”

“That doesn’t – my  _ dad  _ did that?”

Tubbo nodded shakily. “He was scared, though. Scared of  _ me _ .”

Fundy sat back heavily. “I don’t –  Wilbur’s just… he can’t be taking this well. He just got thrown out of L’Manberg. I’m sure it’s… I’m sure he didn’t mean it. I’m sure it’s just stress. You’re not a traitor, Tubbo. We just need to prove that to him.”

“Do you… do you think he’d trust you, if you told him?”

Fundy glanced away, uncertain. His father would never distrust him… but his father would also never draw a sword on Tubbo. “Yes,” he said after a moment, but his hesitation spoke of his true thoughts.

“We can spy for them,” Tubbo said. Fundy looked at him in surprise, and Tubbo nodded. “Yes, really. We’ll prove to Wilbur that we’re on his side. We’ll spy on Schlatt.”

Fundy stared at him for a moment, his eyes wide. Eventually, he said, “Schlatt already knows we’re against him, though. He overheard us yesterday.”

Tubbo shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about that, though. And the thing is, we’d be gone if that were true. We’d have been sent to join Tommy and Wilbur in exile. Seeing Schlatt walking away must’ve been a fluke, somehow. The luckiest fluke ever.”

“You think he passed that room and  _ didn’t  _ hear us?”

“What other explanation do you have? Schlatt’s ruthless. He would get rid of us at the first  _ sign  _ of treachery.”

“But he’s not stupid. There’s no way he missed us. He’s playing a long game here, Tubbo. Acting clueless is probably just another step in his plan.”

Tubbo shook his head empathetically. “But why wouldn’t he just punish us straight off? What would he have to gain by waiting? I’ve thought over this. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“That’s true…” Fundy relented, though Tubbo could tell he still had doubts. Fundy hesitated for another moment before saying, “So you think we should spy on him? Take him down?”

“Yeah. Even if Wilbur doesn’t trust me, Tommy does. I can tell him this plan, and he can tell it to Wilbur. Maybe that will make him realise we’re still on his side.”

“...how would we go about it?”

“Well, Schlatt already trusts me. I’m still the Secretary of State, his right-hand-man. I’ll be able to get right into his inner circle. But you… you’re gonna have to prove to him you’re trustworthy, that you deserve a promotion.”

Fundy stared at Tubbo, something undecipherable in his eyes, before he nodded slowly. “We’ll both get on Schlatt’s good side. We’ll go along with everything he orders, show no signs of our true loyalties. We’ll learn all there is to know. And then, when the opportunity strikes, we’ll take him down from the inside.”

“Who do we tell about this?”

“I think… I think we’d best stay quiet. This isn’t going to be safe, Tubbo. The consequences of treachery… well, they’re not limited to banishment. Telling people would only serve to put them in danger and increase the chance that word will get out. I don’t think we should tell anyone.”

“Not even Niki? Eret?” Tubbo asked quietly.

“Not even them,” Fundy confirmed with a sad shake of his head. “It would also be for the best if we distanced from one another. If one of us gets caught, we can’t have the other seem suspicious from association.”

They lapsed into silence for another few moments. The prospect of spying had been running through Tubbo’s head since the night before, but to actually put it into words, to start planning it with Fundy… it terrified him. But behind the fear was a spark of joy, of hope. He wasn’t alone. He wasn’t alone, and he was going to help Wilbur and Tommy. 

He was broken quite suddenly from his thoughts by a loud exclamation of, “Shit!” 

Tubbo watched in confusion as Fundy jumped to his feet and scrambled across the room. He stood too, following the man into the corridor. “Fundy? Fundy, what’s wrong?”

“Last night there was a notice. Schlatt’s giving another speech, attendance mandatory.” Fundy snatched his hat off its hook and crammed it onto his head. “It’s in five minutes.”

Tubbo’s eyes widened. “Oh,” he said. “Shit.”

“Pretty much,” Fundy said, grabbing Tubbo by the arm and pulling him out the door. They swiftly made their way to the podium and managed to arrive, red-faced and out of breath, just as the clock struck 9 o’clock.

Tubbo and Fundy split off, Fundy making his way to stand at the edge of the crowd as Tubbo went up to the podium. He began climbing the stairs, praying his absence hadn’t been noticed, only to have hopes as Quackity stepped in front of him, head tilted slightly, eyebrow cocked expectantly.

“Little Tubbo’s running late,” the man said tauntingly, taking a step towards Tubbo, who backed away nervously. “I wonder what he was doing, hmm?”

“I- I was just—”

Tubbo was cut off as a loud tapping echoed throughout the area, signalling that Schlatt was about to start speaking. Quackity stepped back, allowing Tubbo to pass, but the smug grin the man shot at him sent a bolt of unease down his spine. The satisfaction in Quackity’s expression — it gave Tubbo the worrying sense that he wasn’t going to like what was about to occur.

Schlatt, on the other hand, didn't even spare Tubbo a glance as he took his place to his right. The President cleared his throat, adjusting the microphone slightly as he waited for the crowd to settle. 

“People of L’Manberg,” he began, his voice ringing throughout the square. “I’ve called you here on this fine morning to discuss a rather disturbing...  _ issue  _ I’ve found within our great nation.”

Tubbo shifted uncomfortably as Schlatt splayed his arms out, gesturing towards the walls encompassing the city. “These...  _ walls _ . They were important during the revolution. They created a safe haven, provided this nation with the protection it so desperately needed from Dream and the Dream SMP. But that was then. Now all they serve to do is stand in the way of progress. Now all they create is a barrier between our city and the lands beyond. We are past this era of boarding ourselves in, of being restrained by walls and boundaries. These walls — their very  _ existence  _ does this country a great disservice.”

Tubbo’s heart pounded in his chest. He knew what Schlatt was about to say. He knew, and the prospect sickened him. The walls that had been there since the beginning, since their original declaration of independence. The walls he’d built with Tommy and Wilbur and all his allies and friends. The walls that meant so much more than the blackstone and concrete they were made of.

Schlatt was going to destroy them.

His suspicions were confirmed a moment later as speech continued. “So I say, we take them down. Effective immediately, all citizens of L’Manberg are  _ required  _ to help tear down the walls of this country. Thus ends the presidential speech.”

The crowd instantly fell into pandemonium, shouts of protest mixing with those of support. Tubbo was frozen on the stage. Bile rose in his throat. He felt sick. He felt sick and powerless and hopeless. He wanted to shout, to scream, to charge at Schlatt and tackle him off the podium— but all he could do was watch as the man turned and left the stage. Something that felt like revulsion curled in his gut. This was the man who was literally destroying Tubbo’s life, tearing down everything he’d known, everything that had once been stable; leaving him scrambling to make sense of what remained.

And he was doing it all so  _ carelessly _ , like he couldn’t give two shits about what he was destroying, like it meant  _ nothing _ . The  _ nonchalance _ of Schlatt, the  _ audacity _ he had to make such a radical change like it was barely the slightest tweak, like it wasn’t changing  _ everything _ — 

Tubbo jumped as a hand clapped him on the shoulder. He twisted to see Quackity grinning viciously down at him. “Let’s get to work then, Tubbo!” the man crowed, before following Schlatt off the stage.

Tubbo’s wide-eyed gaze met with Fundy’s, who was staring up at the stage with a mix of horror and resolve.

This would be the man’s first test, to see if he truly meant to go through with the plan to get on Schlatt’s good side.

Would he be able to tear down the very walls his father had built to protect him?


End file.
